


make love your goal

by withthethieves



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (i know...... pls suspend your disbelief friends), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Don't worry, Famous Louis, Fluff, Football Player Liam, Football Player Louis, Football Player Niall, Hate to Love, I'll add smut tags later, Light Angst, M/M, Manchester United, Non-Famous Harry, Smut, Sort Of, because of course, football au, harry is quite distracting, he's a physiotherapist actually but i feel like medic harry is prob a tag, i love football louis too much not to write one, louis is quite famous, medic harry, nick comes later on friends don't u worry ;), to cause some trouble, trainer zayn, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:39:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthethieves/pseuds/withthethieves
Summary: AU in which Louis Tomlinson, a relatively new on the scene professional footballer and Manchester United’s most recent addition to the first team, is on his way to making history as one of the youngest players ever to play in the Premiership League. He’s worked his way up to get where he is, his whole life dedicated to the sport, and he’s not going to let anything, or anyone, distract him from his ultimate goal.Not even the very pretty but very off-limits team medic, Harry Styles.Especially not him.(Things don’t quite work out the way Louis had planned).





	make love your goal

**Author's Note:**

> surprise!! here's another fic for you all, i hope you like it. i know i have another one going at the moment but i'm v excited about this one so i just decided to post the first chapter!! ps if anyone wants to make me a better collage feel free lmao this is awful but i am so uncreative it's a joke. also i know abso nothing about football so there's that. also this will have about 10 chapters i think. enjoy!

The cold air is fresh and earthy, and Louis takes a deep breath of it as he walks down the tunnel towards the pitch, filling up his eager lungs with the all too familiar scent. He inhales deeply, calmly, letting it prickle at his nostrils sharply. He’s ready. 

The square of early morning sunlight gets bigger and bigger as he strides closer and closer to the entrance to the playing field, and every inch it grows amplifies the ball of anxiety and excitement nestled firmly in the pit of Louis’ stomach.

It’s a practice day, right before their first match of the season, and Louis is as nervous as he is desperate to get on the pitch. He’d been working himself to the bone off-pitch most of last season, trying to recuperate after the foot injury right at the start that left him unable to play competitively for the following few months. It was hard, definitely, but he thinks by now he’s really proven himself to the team’s manager as better and stronger than ever. He knows he must’ve made a good impression to an extent, considering he’s been put in as centre forward for the first team match tomorrow against Man City, but as his coach says; there’s always room for improvement. Louis knows, though, that he’s got to keep everyone higher up pleased - or, as pleased as the grumpy buggers can be - with the decision to take the risk to put Louis in such a competitive and sought-after position so early in his career. He’s barely twenty-one, for god’s sake, so he knows he has to keep his eye on the ball, literally, and stay focused if he wants to avoid making anyone regret it. 

As the sight of his teammates hard at work in the distance at the edge of the field come into view, Louis takes a moment to look up and around him at Old Trafford, takes a moment to remember that this is actually his life. Playing for Manchester United had always been a dream of Louis’, ever since he was a little kid. The sheer number posters that he had plastered on his childhood bedroom wall do nothing if not prove that. (As well as other things - Louis did always find himself staring at the player’s toned legs in their ridden-up shorts for a little too long than his young self thought normal at the time; turns out a few years and a sexual awakening later he now understands perfectly well why he was perhaps overly interested in how their muscles would look all rippled and hard under their sweaty, muddy skin in the pictures, and it wasn’t just because he was envious of them). Now that Louis playing for his favourite team is a reality, well. He still can’t believe it. 

“Tomlinson!” he immediately hears as soon as his football boot makes contact with the soft grass, urgent and grating and _loud._ Reminds Louis that he’s really back in the game, though, and he can’t help but smile to himself. “Better late than never! Stop daydreaming and start running drills, you’re already behind everyone else!” 

The shrill sound of a whistle being blown by the new coach, rather harshly for Louis’ liking, punctuates the end of the order he receives, and before Louis knows it his legs are moving before his brain is, running off to join the blur of red dots he can see at the other end of the field. 

_Shit,_ he thinks, as he legs it down the pitch, _not a good start at all. Come the fuck on, Tommo, don’t fuck this up before your foot’s even touched the bloody ball._

He welcomes the familiar burn that materialises in his calves as he sprints to join the rest of the team, loves the feeling of his lungs sucking up every last drop of oxygen to push himself through the drill. 

Louis sees a familiar head of dyed bleach blonde hair at the end of the line of them, and makes his way towards it knowing it could only be one person.

“Ah, look who _finally_ decided to show up, lads,” Heads immediately turn to Louis at the announcement, and a few cheers and smiles from his fellow players are given to him here and there. Amusement trickles through every word said and there’s an unmistakable irish twang, too, “Took the whole season off and still thinks he can have a lie-in, bloody hell.”

Louis laughs breathily as he finally joins the end of the line of them running suicides, wondering to himself how on earth it’s possible that he actually missed this. 

“Oi, piss off, Horan,” Louis replies in jest, and nudges his elbow _accidentally_ into his teammate’s ribs as they run alongside each other, their ability to hold a full conversation whilst practising still as good as ever, much to the trainer’s disappointment, Louis’ sure, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Niall cackles next to him, and the sound of it heard above the rumble of everyone’s boots hitting the ground equal parts piercing and familiar. God, Louis’ missed this.

“Yeah you bloody well are! And we’re never letting you leave again, you bastard,” Niall grabs him sloppily round the neck and puts him in a loose headlock, as they get to the end of the drill that Louis has thankfully missed the most of, “Wasn’t the same team without you.”

Louis extricates himself from Niall’s hold, only to turn around and gather him in a bear hug, “Aw, Neil, you’ve gone soft on me, mate,” Louis hears Niall scoff right next to his ear, and mumble something about _ungrateful skiving off the season bastard,_ but he chooses to ignore it, and just holds him tighter, sweat and dirt be damned, before letting go and giving him a good old friendly slap on the arse. 

They receive a few giggles here and there from some other teammates surrounding them, plus a few dirty looks, because of course, and Niall pretends for all of three seconds to act scandalised, before breaking into a cheeky smile and doing the exact same thing right back to Louis. Yeah, he’s definitely missed this.

“Tommo! Nice to see you on the pitch again, man,” Louis turns towards another voice, enthusiastic and warm and impossibly happy for this early in the morning, “We all missed you.”

Now, Louis knows that’s not strictly true, considering some of the older members of team who weren’t too pleased with the appointment of his position would probably be happier if he wasn’t back, and instead stayed off the pitch for… well, ever. However, it’s a sweet thing to hear, and it makes Louis feel pleased, even if it’s not fully based on the truth. Louis knows this sort of kind and considerate gesture could only come from one person in particular.

“Liam!” he replies, helplessly mirroring a beaming smile at man standing in front of him, because, well, it’s Liam; walking teddy-bear and all around lovely person, not to mention a sick goalkeeper. They go in for a handshake, but Liam ends up turning it into a proper hug, and Louis’ not even slightly irritated about it, “Thanks, it’s nice to be back. I missed it.” 

Before they can carry on, someone ahead of them clears their throat, and all eyes go to the front of the pitch. 

Standing there is the new trainer, the one Louis didn’t recognise before. Mid-forties, maybe, Louis would guess, dark, slicked back hair, and a shaved beard to match. Quite scary looking, actually. Not that Louis would ever admit that out loud. 

“Right lads, you don’t know me, but guess what? I know you,” and it only sounds slightly threatening, plus the rough cockney accent doesn’t exactly help, “My name’s Luca Gonzalez, and I’m your fitness coach, as part of the new leadership that the team’s taken on for this season. I’ll be training you lot every day between matches, hopefully improving your personal bests and making you all even bigger and better than last season. That sound good?” 

There are a few rogue ‘whoop’s and whistles from down the other end of the line, and Louis has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, does this man think he’s some kind of motivational speaker? The thirty second speech was hardly ‘I have a dream’, and _yet_. 

“Joining me today are two other new additions that the coach wanted me to introduce you to,” he then says, voice gruff and impatient as though it’s such an inconvenience for him to share the attention with anyone other than himself for a moment. Well, _Louis_ can’t really criticise him on that. 

Luca gestures with his giant bear hand to his right, where Louis hadn’t noticed a pair of figures walking across the pitch towards them, presumably from where they’d been waiting in one of the pitch-side viewing galleries. 

He notices the dark haired one first, and, well. He’s almost offensively attractive, all golden-skinned under the rising sun and long, dark eyelashes that Louis can see from where he’s standing. He’s more like a specimen, Louis could put him in an essay titled ‘Humans That Look This Good at 7am Cannot Be Real: a Study’. Then again, perhaps he should just stick to football. 

After a moment of probably obvious gawking, Louis’ internal monologue is cut off by Luca making the introductions.

“Everyone, this is Zayn,” Luca announces, pointing to the one Louis had just been staring at. He really is quite pretty, objectively. Too bad he’s not Louis’ type. “He’s going to be helping me with some of the training with you lot, but his main focus will be goalkeeping. That means you, Payne.” 

The fact that Luca can so effortlessly pinpoint each one of them by name, and get it right every single time, without ever meeting them prior to today is somewhat unsettling, however at least Louis knows he must be good at his job.

Louis looks over at Liam who’s now taken up the residency of staring at this new _Zayn,_ and really, Louis can’t find it in himself to blame him whatsoever. Even though the dopey smile displayed on Liam’s face is already painfully obvious, Louis supposes it’s quite sweet. He’ll still tease him about it later in the locker room, though.

“Now, we also have a new assistant physiotherapist joining us, too,” Luca starts, and this is when Louis can’t stop the eye-roll, already knowing where this is going. He shifts his attention to the blades of grass beneath his studs instead of up at whoever this new person is who has been hired specifically to torment Louis. 

The thing is, he’s seen enough doctors in the past few months to last him a lifetime, however Mourinho seems fully convinced that Louis still needs some extra care and attention, and to be quite frank it pisses him off. He’s _fine_ now, better than before, even, doesn’t need them bringing in some extra help just for the sake of his bloody left foot. 

“...you, Louis.” 

_Fuck._ Louis definitely wasn’t listening. He can imagine it was something along the lines of _and he’s here to make life hell for you, Louis._ Possibly. 

Louis quickly moves his gaze up to the three men standing before him, hopefully supplying them with a look of pure concentration and attentiveness and not like he’s not just been zoned out for the past thirty seconds.

His eyes land of Luca first, who already looks like he wants to kill Louis, which is probably a record when it comes to new trainers who usually last about an average of fifteen minutes before getting completely exasperated with him, so this is definitely a new low for Louis. Or high, however you want to look at it. 

Moving swiftly on to the left of the half-shark half-human hybrid, Louis’ gaze finally gets to the new physio, and. 

_Well._ Louis should have fucking known after all the good he’s had in his relatively short life so far that the universe _would_ play him extremely dirty like this. 

All he sees is just all curly ringlets of chocolate coloured hair tumbling wildly down either sides of a beaming face (honestly, Louis thinks it’s actually emitting light), and long, toned limbs under much too tight sports thermals for this early in the morning (and also Louis’ health), and pretty pink lips stretched into a cheeky grin, and a pair of dimples either side that actually make Louis’ breath stutter, and since bloody _when_ has anyone managed to get a reaction like that out of Louis? He almost whimpers.

The man (god?) steps forward and holds out his hand to Louis, and Louis automatically does the same without thinking - soft hands, Louis notes, for no particular reason - which is good, because he’s pretty sure his brain power has all gone to attempt to quash the blush that is intent on forming on Louis’ cheeks. Thank god he’s been working out so he could offer some kind of explanation if his face does decide to take on a rosy shade.

“Hi, ‘m Harry.” and oh for _fuck’s_ sake, even his voice is lovely, all warm honey dripping slowly, and just the right amount of rough around the edges. Of course, of _course_ the man that he was intent on resenting and ignoring for the whole season turns out to also be the most beautiful man alive. Of fucking course.

He clears his throat, then, a habit for whenever he’s nervous, and he can already hear Niall’s teasing about this later. “Louis.” _yes, he knows that you utter twat,_ “Obviously.” he chuckles then, or rather attempts to; it comes out more like a bird squawking and honestly, can someone just come and fucking brain him with a football right now, “Um, nice to meet you.” 

He receives a warm smile in return, and is grateful for not having to engage in conversation any longer. He doesn’t think he’d be able to rally up the capability to form coherent speech for much longer, not as long this, this _Harry_ just stands there with his little medic bag and his hands behind his back all sweet and at attention. _Jesus, get a fucking grip, Tomlinson._

“Right, well. Now that that’s all done and dusted, how about we actually play some footie. What about that, lads?” Luca finally says, and Louis doesn’t think he’s ever run onto pitch into position this quick and eagerly in his entire life. 

Louis stands and waits for the whistle and decides to contemplate the utter pain that his life has just become, because he’s a professional self-masochist first, and a professional footballer second. What he had imagined would be a full on well-focused and stress-free season after the last eventful one just got a whole lot more distracting. Brilliant. 


End file.
